


The Economic Drawbacks of Peace

by millbert



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Chronic Pain, Comedy, Disability, Dumbledore Bashing, Gen, Might Be Very Long, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-17 11:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13658127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millbert/pseuds/millbert
Summary: Let's assume that UK-W is really back. (There was a corpse. Wouldn't be the first in the history of the Tournament. No other evidence released. Catherine Grayson doesn't need evidence, not when her mind is so brilliant and so useless at the same time.) Let's assume he's after world domination. Whatever. Dumbledore isn't without faults either. (They may be less extreme, but there's something off about him.) The mechanism at the core of the wizarding society would remain unchanged. The best solution: live your life as you have previously, ignoring the increasingly convoluted politics. Potions are way cooler than politics anyway.Or: this Slytherin just wants to exist peacefully. The universe seems to have vastly different plans.





	1. Chance

**Author's Note:**

> no beta. i'm alone here. this story has been going on in my head for years, i've finally decided to start sharing it in hopes that audience pressure will make me finish it.

_February 1996, Hogwarts, Scotland_

"Ready?"

Harry Potter had never been less ready in his life. He gulped and nodded.

"Go on, then. Have your part in my amazing success."

If it was going to be a success. Harry stuffed the owl feather into the small vial and watched it dissolve in the pink liquid. It turned lilac.

"Are you sure it's safe?" he asked hesitantly, lifting the vial to his lips.

"Safe enough. Drink up."

The potion tasted a bit like burned scrambled eggs. And butterbeer. And... chilli? It was tastier than Harry remembered, but still not even close to something he would consume willingly. However, he didn't have much time to ponder the taste; a warm bubble erupted in his stomach and licked its way up into his throat. Warmth became scorching heat and he coughed, grabbing at his throat...

"Ca--"

The horrible burning disappeared, leaving light tingling in its place. Feathers sprouted from Harry's skin and his mouth turned into a beak. He didn't have arms anymore, but wings. Robes ripped across his rounded middle, glasses slipped down what used to be his face.

Harry Potter was now a beautiful, brown owl. Except he kept his usual size.

"I'm pretty sure owls don't grow this huge."

Harry was sure too. But as a six feet tall owl, there was nothing he could do but hope he wasn't going to stay that way forever. Madam Pomfrey was sure going to figure something out. How were they going to explain it to her, though?

He found himself wishing for a Time-Turner like Hermione's, to go back in time to the summer and convince himself he didn't really need that glass of water.

 

_August 1995, 12 Grimmauld Place, London_

The first thing he saw was a cloud of smoke. Then a worn, grey trainer and a skinny calf resting against the edge of the kitchen table. If Harry had been a little less sleepy, he would've realized that the person definitely wasn't Mundungus Fletcher.

"Hey Dung," he said, pushing past him to the cupboards.

"Hey Walter."

Harry stopped with his hand halfway up toward the cupboard. Something was wrong.

"I'm not Walter."

Or at least he wasn’t when he was going to sleep this evening and surely his name couldn't have changed. Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead to make sure he was still himself. The gesture woke him up.

"I'm not Dung."

A small cough followed. Harry turned around to look at the source of husky, but most probably female voice. He saw a piece of parchment, skinny fingers and - after a few nervous movements of the parchment in the smoke - the rest of the person.

She reminded Harry of a stick insect. Every part of her body was long, impossibly skinny and brown. Deep set, huge eyes squinted at him suspiciously. And she looked young, around his age, too young to be in the Order. 

"Right," he mumbled. "Who are you, then?"

The girl removed a small, black pipe from her mouth and held out her right hand.

"Catherine Grayson. And you're Harry Potter."

Harry decided it was unnecessary to ask where she knew him from. He took the hand and shook it. The forearm above it was wrapped in a slightly bloodied rag.

"Are you..." he stopped, unsure how to phrase his question. "This isn't a regular house."

"I've noticed."

Harry pinched the inside of his hand. The girl was still there. A young witch he didn't know was at 12 Grimmauld Place and she seemed perfectly real. He reached backwards for his wand but obviously, it was still laying on his nightstand, upstairs.

"So." Catherine fell back onto her chair. "Why are you awake at 2am?"

"I wanted a glass of water-- No, what are you doing here?"

Should he call Sirius? It was his house, after all. 

“Waiting for Sturgis. He’s in a meeting.”

“Sturgis Podmore?” Harry frowned, cautiously stepping closer. “You know him?”

“Quite well. He’s my uncle.”

They didn’t look related, Harry thought. Sturgis was quite small, blond and full of smiles; Catherine was tall, dark and brooding, and something about her face reminded Harry of the sphinx. His thoughts spun out of control, jumping from the labyrinth to the graveyard, disappearing in a merciless flash of green. He gasped and shook his head to get rid of the image.

“Potter?”

Harry realised he’d closed his eyes; when he opened them, Catherine was standing next to him, getting a glass out of a cupboard.

“You’re in London,” she said, pouring some tap water into the glass. “Safe. Sit down and drink your water.”

It was a sensible piece of advice. Harry accepted the glass and sat down in one of the chairs. Were his thoughts really so obvious? Was he going to experience something similar back in Hogwarts… let’s say, in Potions class? He imagined Malfoy and Snape making fun of him and winced. This had to stop.

“How long have you been having nightmares?” Catherine asked. She’d put out her pipe and was now rubbing it against her t-shirt.

“Why do you think I have nightmares?”

“The things you’ve been through are a good enough reason.”

Catherine grabbed a backpack from under the chair and started to go through its pockets until she fished out a wooden box. She opened it and produced a small bottle full of pink liquid.

“You can have it if you want,” she said, pushing the bottle across the table towards Harry. He raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“A Dreamless Sleep Potion. An updated version.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Plausible. I invented it. The screw is also a glass. Drink one before bed until the nightmares disappear.”

Harry cast a proper, distrustful look at the bottle. How could he know it was safe? He did have nightmares and they were unpleasant, but if the alternative was death as a result of drinking someone’s failed experiment, Harry preferred the sleepless nights.

“It’s safe,” Catherine spoke, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I test everything on myself.”

“I’ve just met you, it’s not very reassuring,” Harry muttered. A door upstairs opened and he could hear hushed voiced and steps. Catherine’s pipe disappeared in the pocket of her backpack.

“Cathy? Professor Snape will be here in a moment, he wants to… Oh.” Sturgis Podmore entered the kitchen, his head as usual a proud design of an experienced thatcher. He smiled brightly. Harry barely responded, too terrified by his announcement. “Hi Harry. I see you’ve met my niece.”

“Yeah." Harry stood up, clearing his throat. The last thing he needed now was bumping into Snape. “Uh… I think I’m finally getting sleepy…”

“You should be.” Sturgis nodded. “It’s pretty late.”

"It was nice to meet you,” Harry said, more out of desire not to offend Sturgis. Catherine was pleasant enough, but she lacked the warm cordiality of her uncle or the Weasleys. In fact, she reminded him a bit of Mad-Eye Moody, and given that the only version of Moody he knew was a Death Eater in disguise, it wasn’t a welcoming thought.

“That’s okay." She snatched back the bottle. It went in the same pocket as the pipe. "See you at school, Harry.”

“Sure. Bye.”

“Put a jacket on,” Harry heard Sturgis grumble as he walked around the table to get to the door. “It’s cold in here.”

There was a sigh.

“Nothing’s cold after Alaska, Sturgis.”


	2. Troll

Harry Potter had the looks of a child and weary eyes that burned with the curse he couldn’t stop thinking about. It was a bright presence at the centre of his convoluted, yet unguarded mess of a mind. Catherine couldn’t remember him well enough to tell whether he had always been in such a sorry state.

“He’s nice,” she noted, kicking the backpack back under the chair. “It’s admirable.”

Sturgis didn’t answer, too busy squinting at the ceiling and scrunching up his nose. 

“What’s that smell? Someone was smoking in here.”

“Wasn’t that Fletcher?”

“No, he--”

Catherine was saved by a quiet, gloomy appearance of her Potions teacher.

“Professor Snape.” She stood to greet him. “Enjoying the holidays?”

He glared at her as if the very notion of joy was completely alien to him. And to be fair, it probably was.

“The school has received a letter from the headmistress of Koldovstoretz. It says they have to adjourn the student exchange programme because of financial reasons.”

“Huh. Weird,” Catherine said, careful to sound appropriately confused. Snape looked far from fooled.

“Luckily, the Headmaster has spared me from having to deal with it. He will discuss it with you once the school year begins.”

“Wonderful,” Sturgis mumbled. Catherine attempted a look full of hurt innocence, but her interest quickly changed topics when Snape passed her a sealed envelope.

“What’s that?” She forcefully broke the Hogwarts seal and unfolded the parchment. “Is he expelling me?”

 

EXAM RESULTS  
ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL

Passing grades:  
O (Outstanding)  
E (Exceeding Expectations)  
A (Acceptable)  
Failing grades:  
P (Poor)  
D (Dreadful)  
T (Troll) 

CATHERINE LEILA GRAYSON RECEIVED:

Study of Ancient Runes D  
Astronomy P  
Care of Magical Creatures O  
Charms A  
Defense Against the Dark Arts E  
Herbology E  
History of Magic T  
Potions O  
Transfiguration A

 

“...Right.”

Apart from the week-long string of torture at the end of the eighth and final year, theory exams in Koldovstoretz were virtually unheard of. When a tawny owl bearing a packet of top-secret O.W.L. parchments made its appearance at the palace, it caused a great commotion among the staff. Once the messenger got scolded for knocking over one of the school’s famous samovars and sent on its way back to England, the headmistress locked Catherine in an empty classroom and made her sit all the tests in one day. The practical exam grades were decided that very same evening (and night, in the case of Astronomy) and it was all Catherine had heard about her O.W.L.s since then, so she had promptly forgotten about them. But there it was, a vertical row of small, black letters. The contrast between the T and the O stuck next to each other was rather comical.

“Severus, is Troll a legitimate grade?” Sturgis mumbled. Catherine ignored him, too busy counting. Six passing grades, including two obvious Os. And an A in Transfiguration, quite unexpected given that Churchill had stubbornly remained a rat rather than changing into a cup after three miserable tries.

“It most certainly is. I have awarded it myself to some of the more memorable—“ By the end of the sentence, Snape had left his seat and was now looming over Catherine’s shoulder. “This is atrocious.”

Sturgis remained tragically silent. Catherine offered a lopsided smile. Maybe she hadn’t been entirely conscious during her exam, but neither was Professor Binns during his lectures.

“And you almost failed Charms.”

Catherine’s jaw dropped at the injustice. 

“I didn’t, I got an A!” 

“It’s really quite astonishing how such a small piece of parchment can be so much of a disappointment,” Snape said with a theatrical sigh.

“Potions! Outstanding!” Catherine tried to pass him the said parchment, but he waved her away. “Isn’t that good?”

“I expected nothing less.”

“Was that a compliment? You must be very tired, sir.”

Snape’s eyes bore into hers in a suspicious squint. She smiled, and a moment later something akin to something tight and almost smile-like flashed across his sullen face as he sensed no disrespect coming his way.

“A minute in your incredibly energetic company feels like a very painful lifetime, Catherine. What’s that awful smell?”

“Mundungus was smoking.”

“Mundungus Fletcher was in the meeting. I had the doubtful pleasure of being seated right next to him.”

Catherine shrugged.

“I guess the smoke just hangs in the air.”

“Seems pretty fresh to me,” Sturgis grumbled.

“I wouldn’t know,” Catherine beamed. “Can we go home, Sturgis? I’m really tired.”

“Shall I offer a cup of tea? Or something stronger? I don’t know about you, but seeing Snape always makes me feel sick.”

Sirius Black shuffled into the kitchen, a lazy smirk on his face. He looked only slightly less dishevelled than on the Ministry-issued posters Catherine had seen a few years ago. He raised an eyebrow at her and the smirk widened into an amicable smile. She decided not to respond to it just yet.

“You’re being very hospitable,” Sturgis laughed nervously, glancing at Snape.

“Such is the custom of House Black. He wants another word, Sturgis.”

“What a surprise to see you being useful, Black,” Snape’s voice rustled before he slid out of the kitchen, Sturgis following him. Sirius snorted and proceeded to go through the cupboards until he found a particular bottle.

“You’re Podmore’s little girl?” he queried, joining Catherine at the table. He took a long swig from the bottle, grey eyes fixed on her face. His features suggested that he was a very handsome man in his youth.

“Niece.”

“Whatever.”

He passed her the bottle. Catherine tried the liquid carefully and drank some more when it turned out to be sherry.

“I could be underage, you know.”

“Finally a crime that will land me in Azkaban for good.”

“Nice one.”

She made the bottle glide across the table with a very unnecessary little wave, and it hovered in front of Black until he grabbed it. 

“Show-off,” he grunted before drinking. The alcohol spilled all over his face and t-shirt, making him swear out loud.

Maybe he was funny and shared his drink, but Catherine had stopped appreciating Snape-centric jokes back in her first year.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> excuse the owl results layout lol


End file.
